


Blanket

by IwillbeReichenbach



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, Christmas, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Hangover, Inspired by Fanart, M/M, Multi, Only I could put a bit of angst in a Christmas fic, POV John Watson, Platonic Cuddling, Prompt: Blanket, Prompt: Cold feet, Prompt: Eggnog, Sharing a Bed, Sherlock Holmes Needs a Hug, SherlockXmas2020, Yes I did four prompts in one fic, or maybe not so much up to you, prompt: surprise
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-11
Updated: 2020-12-11
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:20:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28008345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IwillbeReichenbach/pseuds/IwillbeReichenbach
Summary: It is almost Christmas and after a night out at the pub, John wakes up a bit worse for wear, but does he wake up next to the same person he fell asleep with?Thank you toSandrinafor the endless writing support you give me,   Bestest Beta ever.As usual typos and mistakes are all my own and will probably appear in the three lines I added after Sandrina looked at it.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes & John Watson, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 10
Kudos: 63
Collections: Sherlock Xmas 2020





	Blanket

John woke with the first stream of light coming through his window. He woke feeling warm and satisfied in the way you only can when there is no alarm to force you out of bed; when there is no need to rush. He could hear the rain battering the window. His mouth was dry and his head fuzzy, not a headache yet, just the threat of it.

He’d brought home a lovely brunette from the pub. No strings attached, they’d both agreed. Just a nice way to let off steam. She’d fallen asleep beside him. The way the bed dipped, made him hope she’d stay for breakfast, maybe a long hot shower together before she disappeared forever. 

He’d missed this. Waking up next to someone. When Mary was still alive, he’d roll over wrapping his arm around her. Finding the hem of her shirt, he’d run his fingers up the soft skin of her belly until he could cup her breast. He’d nuzzle the hair on the back of her neck and hold her against his chest. Listen to her breathing, feel her breathing. 

Nostalgia made him want that again; he yearned for the feeling of somebody in his arms. He rolled onto his side, moving slowly so he wouldn’t wake her; so he wouldn’t wake up the hangover that prowled in the periphery. The body in the bed next to him was facing the wrong way though. The forehead now against the soft place where his ribs joined in the centre. The back wasn’t naked the way he’d left it last night. The fabric smooth and cool beneath his fingers.

He blinked his eyes open, squinted against the dull light. Curls, blue dressing gown, bare feet sticking over the end of the bed. Sherlock.

He recoiled reflexively at the shock of finding the wrong person in his bed. The unexpected person. Where the hell did...? He didn’t even know her name.

With a sigh, he relaxed back into the mattress, glad he’d put some pants on when he went to the loo late in the night when the reality of too many beers made itself known. Then the exasperation crept in. He was exasperated at Sherlock’s lack of boundaries. Moments later he realised he was slightly too drunk to really care. Then slightly worried. Crossing boundaries was one thing but, this level of boundary hopping was out of the ordinary.

“Sherlock, you alright mate?” John asked. Sherlock drew his knees up, held his arms around himself tighter, but he didn’t answer. John brushed the hair back off his face. Hoping to read something on his face. “Did something happen?”

He still gave no answer, just turned his face into the mattress. John could tell he was embarrassed about something. As embarrassed as Sherlock gets.

“You can tell me.” John said, as he rubbed a hand along the curve of his back. Sherlock grasped for Johns other hand. Gripped it until their fingers hurt.

“Bad dreams.” He mumbled. “Couldn’t sleep.”

No one needed to tell John about the power of a nightmare.

“Do you want to...?” John began 

“No. Can’t…” Sherlock cut him off, before he paused. John could tell he was still disturbed by what his brain had conjured up. Sherlock changed the subject suddenly, talking in a rush, “Stevie left. She came down to the kitchen for a glass of water. She said to say thank you She was nice, but I don’t think she is coming back. She’s not right for you anyway. I called her a cab.”

“Oh. That’s, um, good. Yeah. No, not right at all.” John stuttered out, wondering at how awkward the conversation had been between them. Stevie, yes, how did he forget that? 

“We drank the rest of the eggnog.” Sherlock confessed into the mattress.

“That was for tomorrow.” 

“We can make more later.”

“You can make more.” John told him with a grimace. The very thought of anything alcoholic made him feel queasy. Sherlock was just trying to distract him though. Trying to keep him from asking about the nightmare. “You can tell me. If something is bothering you.”

Sherlock put a hand to his face; covered his eyes. “Smith.”

The single word chilled John. It brought back all the ways that he’d failed Sherlock. How close Sherlock had come to being murdered, or to dying of his own addiction. How poorly John had acted towards him. How close he’d come to not being there when Sherlock had needed him most. 

Sherlock has been haunted by the memories of that case before. John had woken him on the couch one afternoon. He was kicking and thrashing so much that John had been worried that he might fall. He confessed then that he thought John wouldn’t come to save him, that in his dreams he didn’t. That he was suffocating, too weak to fight back.

“I’m here.” John said. “I’ll always be here. I’ll always come if you’re in trouble.” 

He meant it. He wished that Sherlock would believe him. He suspected that was too much to ask after everything they’d been through; everything he’d put Sherlock through. 

John pulled the blanket over them both and held Sherlock against his chest. Their knees knocking together, Sherlock’s cold feet wrapping around his lower legs. Sherlock’s face was wet against John’s bare chest. John held him until his breath evened out and he fell asleep in his arms. Despite the looming hangover, John felt a contentment that had been missing from his life for a long time.

**Author's Note:**

> I wasn't planning on doing the Christmas prompts but I saw [this image](https://3bino3.tumblr.com/post/134658523980/the-further-on-i-go-oh-the-less-i-know-i-can-find%5D) and I just had to write a fic about it. Check out Nemo's other works they are incredible. The artist has given permission on their page to write fics based on their work and to post their work with a link and I am so grateful to be able to write something about this awesome image. 
> 
> I'm not sure if I will get to the other prompts so in case I don't get another chance, I hope you have a wonderful, safe, and Covid free Christmas.


End file.
